


Business with the Dead

by junko



Series: Senbonzakura's Song [11]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Byakuya watches Renji and Rukia leave for Hueco Mundo and makes his way to the family grave.  There he receives word about the whereabouts of his cousin, Hiroko.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Business with the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to Josey this time for not only doing her usual typo-spotting and general cheerleading, but also for her Japanese language expertise for coming up with the name and properties (and sword style) of Hiroko's zanpakutō. Thanks, Josey!
> 
> Believe it or not, this is the first time in this series we hear Senbonzakura sing (and talk!)

Byakuya turned away from the senkaimon and walked straight to the family grave. 

He walked and walked and walked, keeping his mind blank and empty, experiencing only the sun on his face, the slushy snow beneath his feet, and the occasional strong wind that billowed the captain’s haori out behind him.

Only when he got to the gravesite and broke the thin layer of ice at the bottom of the well, did Byakuya allow himself to feel anything. Because he knew, that even though washing the snow from the grave chapped his hands painfully, the familiar ritual of cleaning would relax him. 

The tension drained from his shoulders as he wiped and cleaned. In the back of his mind, Senbonzakura sang a soothing childhood song. 

Setting the brush in the bucket, he settled into seiza in front of the large, gleaming black stone. Byakuya’s name the only red ink among all the darkness.

The last Kuchiki.

Yet, someone else had been to the graveside recently. Despite the snow, the flowers were still fresh. Byakuya picked them up to remove the wilted ones and rearrange them more neatly. Red and white camellia? Had someone from the Division brought an offering? 

He set the flowers back, the red, bright like spilled blood against the black stone, reminding him of Renji’s hair.

Could Renji have…?

Byakuya wasn’t even sure Renji knew where the family grave was… though, these days, if Renji asked, Eishirõ would tell him. Byakuya smiled to think what kind of awkward conversation Renji might have at this stone. Would he apologize to Hisana or all the Kuchiki who had ever lived? Or would he stare them down belligerently and say nothing at all? 

As lovely as that image was, the camellia could just have easily come from Aunt Masama. Her husband was a soldier in the division and the heir. Her brother was the lieutenant, and her father the captain. The camellia was their flower as much as Byakuya’s.

Still, the stalks looked ragged and uneven, as if plucked instead of cut. Byakuya could hardly imagine Auntie Massey instructing a servant to raid the estate’s garden. However, he could quite easily see Renji stealing the flowers or grabbing them as an afterthought….

Or Rukia.

Fingers brushed the blackened, carved characters of Hisana’s name lovingly. “I promised you I’d always protect her, but I can’t always stand in front of your sister, forcing her into my shadow, blocking any progress of her own. It wouldn’t be right, would it?” 

Byakuya glanced up, momentarily forgetting she couldn’t answer him. How he longed for the days when he could turn to Hisana in bed, or find her in the southern garden near the koi pond—usually under the grand willow tree there, out of sight, hiding from the cruel words from servants or family, but always assuring him that she just felt better out in open air.

He wanted to say to Hisana’s grave that she could rest assured that Rukia and Renji would be okay that everything would ‘be all right,’ but Byakuya’d stopped being able to say false platitudes when Hisana didn’t recover. After she’d died, he’d grown disgusted by such hollow words when people kept telling him the lies that time healed all wounds and that fate never gave you a burden you couldn’t handle.

Such bullshit.

And the little pat phrases hadn’t even been well meaning when they came from his family. In every word of false sympathy, Byakuya had almost been able to hear the subtext: ‘thank god that was fast; our shame has died with her.’

So, instead, Byakuya said what he believed to be true: “If they are able, Renji and Kurosaki will give their lives before they see harm come to Rukia. She could not have finer companions.”

Doubt still rang in Byakuya’s ear, with a whispered thought: But I would be finer.

After all, it’d been so very hard to loosen his grip, to let Rukia go… to let them both go. Watching Rukia and Renji walk into what was certain danger had made Byakuya’s fists clench and stomach spin.

Byakuya couldn’t help but remember the video he and the Kenpachi watched in the Twelfth Dvision of the Arrancar. The enemy seemed… unaccountably fierce this time. Renji’s bankai was so new and fragile. 

And Rukia had none.

Though, Byakuya did have to grumpily acknowledge that Kurosaki Ichigo was likely strong enough to cover both of them. That boy would sprout wings to fly them home, if it was needed. 

Yet… if it was right to let Renji and Rukia go, why did it feel so… awful?

He looked up again, wishing he could see the answer in Hisana’s sweet face. Instead, all that greeted him was warm sunlight. The sunshine melted last night’s snow. It dripped from the pine branches in a staccato rhythm. The cold did nothing to hush the chatter of chickadees. Tree squirrels dashed and leaped among the headstones.

Still, it felt like an answer of sorts. It would be what it would be. Life would march on, as it always had. Byakuya could do nothing but ride the current of fate, like a cherry blossom on the wind.

The fluttering of wings broke through Byakuya’s reverie. A black Hell butterfly appeared out of nowhere and turned lazy circles in front of him, nearly blending with the dark stone. Daisuke’s message! 

“Have you found them?” Byakuya asked.

As if in response to Byakuya’s question, Daisuke’s voice said, “My contact tells me that the lady Kuchiki has been brought to the northern teahouse. It is… it’s a rough place, my lord. You should hurry.”

With Yoruichi in the Human World, there was nothing in the whole of the Soul Society faster than Byakuya Kuchiki.

#

Yet, somehow, it seemed he’d arrived too late. Stepping out of shunpō, Byakuya’s sandal crunched on shattered lattice. The curtain door behind the broken screen was slashed, and flapped forlornly in the bright sunlight.

Despite the hour—when shops and street vendors should be setting out their wares and beginning their day—not a soul was on the street. They were all cowering indoors; Byakuya could sense feeble reiatsu behind shuttered windows and doors, all watching him anxiously.

What could have happened here? Who would have attacked?

Casting out his senses into the darkened interior of the shop, Byakuya could feel something strong and patient upstairs, as though waiting for him. Unsheathing Senbonzakura, Byakuya took a cautious step inside. 

There had been a fight. Looking at the deep slash marks on the wall, deep cuts slicing rice paper walls, gouges in tatami, Byakuya would almost have suspected Zabimaru and Renji.

_No, _he and Senbonzakura thought in tandem, _Renji/Zabimaru is wild, but this looks/feels like the work of an… amateur.___

From an upstairs room a shaky female voice called out, “Kuchiki-sama, is that you?”

“Hiroko?”

A flashstep brought Byakuya upstairs. Senbonzakura at the ready, he pressed his back to the wall beside the open door from which the voice had originated. Outside the teahouse, he could feel the arrival of several division soldiers. Thank goodness, they’d moved quickly at the order he’d sent via butterfly. Senbonzakura could attack many opponents at once, but it was always wisest to have, as Renji would call them, ‘back-up.’

With a silent command, Senbonzakura scattered. Byakuya kept the petal/blades swirling around him like a shield as he stepped out into the doorway, to get his first look at what lay beyond.

Byakuya had steeled himself for many things.

Except this.

Hiroko sat in seiza in the middle of a bedroll. Her deep blue, Kuchiki-crested kimono was torn, one of her shoulders bare and exposed. Abruise like teeth marks darkened near her long and elegant neck. Her long, black hair was disheveled and unbound, one hairpin holding everything off to the side and askew. She had dark circles under her wide, gray eyes. There were, however, no signs of tears. Perhaps, because it was she that held a small kaiken, a short knife that the noblewomen of the Kuchiki clan carried for personal protection. 

_She_ held the knife.

It was no ordinary blade either. It should have been, its polished wooden hilt being simple and as unobtrusive as possible, as such things were. Yet the blade had split at the handle and now sprouted two steel knitting needles that moved, almost like the mandibles of some insect. The needles themselves projected several wire cables--thin, sharp, and wrapped tightly around Miisho Ōta, the former Third Seat.

Ōta looked very nervous, especially where the sharp-edged wires seemed to have cut deep enough into his skin that blood soaked his yellow sleeping kimono. He must have been standing a very long time. His legs trembled, his breathing ragged, and tears streaked his face. If that was not blood at his feet, he may have also pissed himself in fear.

Well, Byakuya thought, it seemed Hiroko had the matter, quite literally, in hand.

Byakuya let Senbonzakura settle back into its sealed state and deliberately re-sheathed the blade. “Shikai already,” he remarked dryly. “You’ve been kept from Academy far too long, Hiroko-chan.”

She smiled slightly and gave a nod. “Yes, far too long, as I fear I’m in desperate need of instruction, cousin. Hataorimushi seems to have a mind all her own. I’ve no idea how to get her to let go.”

“You must not want to yet,” Byakuya said kindly.

“I told her that,” Ōta snarled, only to gasp out as the wires tightened. He trembled more fiercely. “Please help me, Taicho.”

Byakuya only barely managed to keep the flash of anger from his face. “Do not appeal to me, Ōta. I am your captain no longer. Moreover, if it had been Senbonzakura you faced, you would already be dead. Hataorimushi, it seems, is far more merciful.”

Feet pounded up the stairs with cries of “Taicho?”

Byakuya turned to see the new Third and a small group of Sixth Division shinigami behind her, some staying to guard the door and check the downstairs for lurking enemy. Byakuya felt a swell of pride watching their efficient sweep of the ruined teahouse. 

“I’m certain you will find no remaining threat. But, once you have double-checked, you may stand down,” Byakuya assured Nanako. “When my cousin is ready, she will release the prisoner to you.”

Hiroko’s dark eyebrows drew together. Byakuya wanted to tell her not to over-think things, but he had no idea what kind of relationship she had with this astounding Hataorimushi. Even so, he had nothing but faith in her. Hiroko and Hataorimushi would find a way. Perhaps she just needed the reassurance of the presence of soldiers.

In fact, as shingami appeared beside Byakuya and cries of ‘clear here’ echoed through the air, Hiroko seemed to relax. The wires began carefully unwinding and drawing themselves back, cleverly manipulated by the knitting needles.

The feeling of her flaring reiatsu reminded Byakuya of how hard it had been to control Senbonzakura at first, and, how, even the slightest loss of concentration or stray emotion could send the blades skittering out of control. 

Kuchiki seemed destined to have zanpakutō that forced them to rein in impulses.

Seeing that she had nearly released Ōta, Byakuya signaled for two soldiers to be ready, in case he should he foolishly decide to try to escape. 

“Not to worry, Taicho,” Nanako added quietly, as though similarly aware of the importance not to disturb Hiroko’s concentration, “We have the place surrounded. He isn’t going anywhere.”

Byakuya nodded his approval. “When he is secured, you will give the Lady Kuchiki the utmost privacy to compose herself.”

Nanako seemed to suddenly taken in the ripped kimono and the bruises. Her eyes narrowed and her face grew very hard. “No man will come within 20 feet of her, Taicho. If they so much in breathe in her direction, I’ll kill them.”

The last bit seemed excessive, but Byakuya appreciated her instant understanding of the potential situation. The look Nanako shot Ōta made him think the former Third was lucky that Nanako had not been the one to face him down, either. 

“What do you want us to do with him, Taicho?” Nanako asked. “I mean, he’s not really one of us any more.”

It was true. Ōta was no longer a member of their division. As tempting as it was to throw him on the ‘mercy’ of the Kuchiki family, there was an even harsher option. “That man is a rogue shinigami. Send him to the Maggot’s Nest.”

Nanako seemed to approve; she gave him an enthusiastic nod as she said, “With pleasure, sir.”

Byakuya was about to turn away and say that he’d leave it in her hands, when a voice came from below: “Got something here! A trap door!”

One of Hirako’s zanpakutō’s wires whipped out and slashed the wall. Ōta was free enough of constriction that he collapsed in on himself in a tight, protective, sobbing ball.

“I will see to it personally,” Byakuya told his cousin. Instead he indicated Nanako, at his side, “This is my Third Seat. Once our men have taken care of this villain, she will stay with you, if you wish. She is yours to command.”

Hiroko seemed to understand, though it was seeing Ōta hauled roughly away that made a soft smile grace her thin lips. 

Ah, indeed. He would spare Hiroko no more worry. 

Downstairs, they seemed to be helping some poor wretches up out of a cellar hide-a-way. There were several of them, men and a woman. The men were dressed like cooks and other teahouse servants. The woman was very clearly an apprentice orian. Byakuya instantly recognized her station by the cut and style of her clothes. 

They seemed to recognize him instantly as well. They all dropped to their knees and bowed their heads at his approach.

“What happened here?” Byakuya asked. 

“My lord,” the orian spoke. “We were attacked.”

“By Ōta?” Byakuya couldn’t remember the Third Seat’s zanpkatō, but he didn’t think it slashed. And, at any rate, what would the purpose be to trashing his own establishment?

The orian exchanged a curious glance with one of the cooks, who whispered back, “The new owner.”

“Ah,” she said, after a nod of understanding. “No, my lord. Outsiders. Wild men.”

“Bandits?” Had they attacked still thinking this place belonged to Byakuya?

The cook who’d been helpful in supplying information about Ōta’s identity, lifted his head to say, “If so, they were the strangest bandits I’ve ever seen, m’lord. They carried zanpakutō.”

Ah! The rogue shinigami bandits. Perhaps the Shiba or Shiba clone and his troop? “Do you have a description?”

“I could hardly forget them, my lord,” the cook continued, getting nods from the others. “One had blue hair the other looked like… an evil elf.”

This was not the description Byakuya had been expecting. “Indeed?”

The orian added, “The blue-haired one had claws and… a hole.”

A hole? Hollows? No, it was the enemy Renji had fought in the Human World… “Would one of you volunteer to come to the Division and answer a few more questions?”

The group suddenly looked more nervous, but the orian closed her eyes in a stately manner and said, “Yes, my lord, I would.”

Byakuya nodded, but internally he grimaced.

He was going to get quite the reputation with all these orian visiting him….


End file.
